


Tempest in a Teacup

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - No Band, Dragon!Patrick, Fluff, M/M, Pete is his hoard, cuteness, dragons exist, grumpy patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Pete was always the crazy one, the one who was always invading other people's personal space, and he never thought he'd be the stable one in a relationship.Then he asked out his best friend, Patrick, who happened to be a dragon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> They folks...so I know this is a crazy one...but I love it. Hope you enjoy it too, and Happy 2017, lovelies! <3

 

The funny thing about having a dragon as a lead singer, best friend, and boyfriend was it just had all kinds of weird extras. Pete had always thought he was the most ridiculous person out there, that he’d always be the one in a relationship that was the odd one, the clingy one, the strange one. Then he met Patrick—sixteen years old, blue eyes the color of gemstones that flashed when he got angry, and boy did he get angry a lot. He was five feet and four inches of fury if you disagreed with him about David Bowie or the roots of punk or Green Day’s influence on music. But there was something else about him…something beyond the fury and his affinity for brooding silences. It made his smiles even more precious, it made his laughs when something was funny even more enticing. When his eyes sparkled with happiness when a chord progression finally sounded _right_ it made Pete’s heart clench and his breath hitch and he wanted _more._

 

After three years of being a band, Pete finally worked up the courage to take Patrick to dinner, and between him shoveling noodles and tofu into his mouth like the world was ending and his adorably satisfied smile over how perfectly seasoned the food was (Patrick liked his food _spicy_ ), Pete had babbled out a confusing mess of _so I can’t get you out of my head and I think you’re so gorgeous and I know the band is a thing and I would never want to put that at risk but I can’t take it anymore I just had to tell you that I think you’re perfect._  

 

Patrick had merely stared at him, an intense look on his face. It wasn’t surprise, it wasn’t shock, it wasn’t anger. It was something closer to possession, to excitement. A small smile curled on his lips, like Pete had said the perfect thing, that he had just read off the winning lotto numbers. 

 

When he had whispered _yes_ it had been almost a hiss. 

 

After that, Patrick had pushed them out of the restaurant, dropping a fifty on the table and bundling Pete out the door and into his car, never letting to of Pete’s hand. They drove out of the city for nearly an hour, turning down a small road to someplace Pete had never heard of called Ryerson Conservation Area. He had jokingly asked if this was where Patrick killed him and buried his body in the woods, which Patrick only shook his head and squeezed his hand tighter. They pulled off into a secluded parking lot—empty at this time of night, and Patrick pulled him from the car and off into the woods. They followed a small path, and Patrick just ignored him babbling on about _I’m a delicate Emo flower Patrick, I don’t belong in nature like this_ and _where are we going, seriously I ask you to be my boyfriend is this when you tell me that you’re actually a serial killer or something_. They crested a small ridge into a forested glade that shone in the moonlight, making the rocks seem like glaciers in the night. 

 

Patrick pushed Pete down to sit on a large boulder and took a deep breath as he took a few steps back. He unzipped his hoodie and took it off, setting it gently on the ground next to his feet. 

 

“Patrick, if you wanted to strip for me, we didn’t have to drive out to the buttfuck of nowhere to do it.” 

 

Silencing him with a glare, Patrick took a deep breath. “This isn’t something I could do in Evanston.” He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders back, like he was stretching out the kinks from the drive…

 

Then _wings_ sprouted from his back. 

 

Pete gasped, jumping to his feet as Patrick gave him a small, shy smile. _“Holy shit…”_

 

 

_~//~_

 

After that night, Pete learned a lot of things about the world that he hadn’t even realized he hadn’t known to wonder about. Like that Patrick’s family was part of a pretty wealthy but staunchly pacifistic dragon family (who knew that whole Norse mythology thing was actually based on _facts)_. He learned that dragons had to be outside to transform, preferably at night with clean air and wind. 

 

He learned that all of Patrick’s pissyness and grumpiness was because he hadn’t gotten to transform when he needed to. Apparently, dragons needed to—at the very least—get their wings out and stretched once a week. Patrick was _very_ bad at remembering to find time for this, but then didn’t realize how bitchy he had gotten. Dragons could also go “full dragon” as Pete came to think of it—completely shedding their human exterior and becoming a dragon. But apparently this transformation was exhausting and couldn’t be done too often. Pete had begged Patrick to show him what he looked like but Patrick had shaken his head and looked down, strangely reserved. Sensing there was a story there that Patrick didn’t want to share, Pete let it go, and simply kissed Patrick tenderly and whispered, _I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do. Promise._

 

The most important thing he had found out was that Patrick had been crushing on him since basically the day they met. Apparently, there was some cardinal rule of dragon relationships that the dragon couldn’t initiate anything, they had to be _asked_ by their mate. 

 

 _Mate._  

 

Apparently, dragons didn’t do causal dating. Which hey, Pete was fine with—he was expecting to have to keep his massive crush in check, to work up to saying the fateful “L” word with Patrick. He had known he was in love with Patrick since they’d been friends for two weeks…but most people didn’t want to hear that from their new boyfriend on the day they became official. But Patrick loved him, he told him that in deep, growling tones that night in the nature preserve, and Pete was good with that. 

 

~//~

 

Patrick’s breath was hot against his cheek and Pete loved it, just like he loved the limbs wrapped secure and heavy around him. Stretching a bit as he woke up, he turned to lay on his back while still staying in the circle of Patrick’s arms. He had always been the aggressive cuddler, but sometimes Patrick got all grabby and possessive, and Pete _loved_ it.  His foot hit something with a dull _clang_ and he felt something sharp dig into the small of his back. 

 

Opening his eyes, Pete sat up a bit and looked around the queen bed they shared…and then collapsed back on the bed with a short, huffing laugh. 

 

Scattered around them was probably everything in their shitty apartment that could be classified as _shiny._ Tin foil pulled from the roll and scrunched into hand-sized balls, pot lids, the silver coasters that Andy had given them as a house-warming gift. Patrick’s beloved guitar was at the foot of the bed, along with several gold candlesticks that Patrick had brought home one day grinning broadly, about five Bowie records, and probably every piece of silverware they owned. Pete pulled a fork from under his back, glaring at it. 

 

Looking over, he gently poked Patrick’s cheek with the tines. “Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up.”  Patrick only moaned, burrowing his head into Pete’s neck. Never one to let a bit of adorableness keep him down, Pete scooted away so Patrick had to keep inching forward to find the warmth he was looking for, making angry grunts as he went. One more poke, and Patrick’s eyes flew open, and steam wafted from his nostrils when he exhaled. 

 

“Will you quit it?” He glared and Pete smiled at him widely. 

 

“Only if you tell me why I woke surrounded by junk, and why this fork was underneath me trying to dig out my kidney.” 

 

“Not _junk.”_ Patrick’s voice was adorably scratchy and rough with sleep. “Needed to…get it all together.” 

 

“Get what together?” Pete was confused why Patrick—who normally slept like the dead and probably would just ask an intruder who was murdering Pete with an axe to please keep it down—would have gotten up in the middle of the night to pile shit all around them. 

 

“Mine. My hoard.” Patrick’s eyes were mostly open, and looking at Pete with something that was close to a predatory gleam. 

 

“Is this a dragon thing? Like, do you need me to go sleep on the couch so you have room to cuddle your favorite pot lids or—“ He yelped as Patrick pushed tin foil balls and silverware out of the way and tackled Pete onto his back in a move that reminded him for some reason of a cougar jumping down on its prey. 

 

“ _No._ ” Patrick pushed himself up over him, looking down at him with heat in his eyes that made Pete’s stomach flip-flop and heat suddenly pool in his groin. “You’re part of my hoard. You belong here.” He darted down and pressed a searing kiss to Pete’s neck, ending in a sharp bite that made him moan out Patrick’s name on the end of a stuttering breath. His breath wast hot as it curled around Pete’s neck like smoke as Patrick peppered small bites and kisses down his collarbone. “You’re mine.” 

 

Quick as a thought, Patrick had scrambled down Pete’s body, pulling away his boxers and engulfed his half-hard cock in the hottest, wettest heat imaginable. Pete’s back arched as he gasped and his hands burrowed into Patrick’s cinnamon hair, mussed from sleep and longer than usual. His last thought before his brain became consumed in an endless loop of _PatrickPatrickPatrick_ was that he should really buy them more forks.

 

~//~

 

It had always been Pete who was the demonstrative one. Everybody had endured his constant hugging and cuddling and invasions of personal space. Patrick tolerated it the best—he would just huff at Pete and let him do what he wanted, knowing it was the best way to get him to stop. 

 

After the _yes-I-want-to-be-your-boyfriend-but-also-I’m-a-dragon_ discussion, Pete noticed Patrick touching him more than normal. It wasn’t anything near the level of clingy that Pete displayed (not that he would have minded) but it was little things—little demonstrations of _mine_. 

 

Like the way that Patrick didn’t always sit by Pete…but if someone _else_ sat down too close to him, Patrick would gently go sit on the other side, wrapping his hand possessively around Pete’s knee, or carding his fingers through Pete’s hair. 

 

Or how when they were out at a bar one night in the middle of somewhere in Iowa…somebody had made a comment under their breath about _fags ruining this country but never thought I’d see it here_ and _eyeliner don’t belong on a guy, if that even is a guy_. Pete’s eyes had widened as he heard the end of it, but Patrick with his far-superior dragon hearing, had bristled like a porcupine poked with a stick. Maybe it was because they were in Iowa and Pete and Patrick weren’t wearing cowboy hats and wranglers, maybe it’s because Patrick was, after all, a pretty short dude. But the two guys at the bar never knew what hit them…but Pete did. It was the ball of rage known as Patrick Stumph, sometimes-dragon and defender of Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third. 

 

The gifts were the things that Pete noticed the most, and if he was being honest, meant the most to him. He wasn’t really a big gift-giver generally. Birthdays and holidays he went all out, but otherwise, he preferred to tell Patrick how much he loved him, to sing to him off-key and passionate in the shower, or any other way he could say “I love you” with just a twinge of loving annoyance as repayment. But apparently another part of being a Dragon’s mate—other than the strangely-placed possessiveness and occasional stretch-the-wings outings—was the way Patrick looked out for Pete. Not that that was a new thing—Patrick had been taking care of Pete practically since they met. Reminding him to take his meds, making sure he drank water after a show, remembering to pack an extra set of earbuds since Pete _always_ lost his halfway through the tour. 

 

This though…this was more than that. Patrick had never been big on _showmanship_ or _grand gestures—_ that had always been more of Pete’s thing. But once they agreed to be “official” Pete started getting little gifts, left here and there innocuously. He would open his backpack to find a carton of green tea Pocky Sticks, which happened to be his favorite flavor. Or his favorite hoodie, when he had spilled coffee on it and he had thrown it on the floor of the bedroom in anger had mysteriously shown up a couple days later washed and stain-free. He would reach into his back pocket and find a shiny rock that was the color of Patrick’s eyes. When he would open the fridge, sometimes his favorite yogurt—the Greek kind with the little flip-cup section of yummy toppings—would be on the top shelf. A new bright orange pick would show up in his bass case, and he would smile because there was only person who would remember his favorite color. Once after dropping Patrick off at the airport to go visit his sister in Florida, Pete had returned home to find a hardback of the new Star Wars book that he had been yammering about wanting to read. 

 

The gifts were small, but so thoughtful, so _Patrick_ that they made Pete’s heart melt every time. He would go curl himself around his boyfriend, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his neck, murmuring _you’re the best in the whole world_ and Patrick would just give him a small smile. Once Pete had pressed him, asking why he was always so nice, why he was always looking out for him like that…and Patrick had huffed a deep breath and stared at him with solemn eyes as he worked the explanation out in his head. They had done this before—Patrick always had the same look on his face as he tried to figure out how to explain to Pete some facet of being a dragon, of why he would do certain things. But his answer, when he worked it out haltingly, had made Pete’s heart seem like it was trying to do cartwheels out of his chest. 

 

“Because you’re mine, and I’m…I take care of you. I want you to be happy.” 

 

~//~

 

It had been a bummer when Fall Out Boy ended…but they all knew it wasn’t going to last. It had been a hell of a ride, but it seemed like adulthood had finally caught up with them. Andy’s mom had a stroke and when he said he had to go, and they all agreed whole-heartedly. They had all road-tripped with him back to Menomonee Falls, and stuck around for a week helping him install wheelchair ramps and other assisted-living devices for his mom. She was a lovely lady, and they all fell in love with her quiet ways as she tried to mother them from bed. But then they had gone back to Chicago, bummed around a while and then Marie got pregnant. They were all thrilled, but it was also the end of the last gasp of hope when they could see that Joe really wanted to settle down and raise his baby with Marie. 

 

In the end it was just Pete and Patrick…but nobody ever doubted that would endure. They got a little house in the suburbs, and a bulldog named Hemmingway, and grew up. Pete went back and finished his final semester at De Paul and tacked on a few more, ending up with a double major in Political Science and Advertising. DCD2 really took off, and Pete would come home buzzing each day over t-shirt designs or this new band they were looking at signing and Patrick would smile to see him so happy. They ended up working together, with Patrick joining the DCD2 team as their main producer and songwriter. He smiled through the self-imposed long days in the studio, buried in everything he loved. Pete would drag him away every few days, to make the hour-long drive to the nature preserve so Patrick could stretch his wings out and “howl at the moon.” Patrick would always respond with a huff and an imperious _dragons don’t howl, dumbfuck. We singe and fly and eat annoying humans._

 

It was perfect. 

 

~//~

 

New Year’s Eve had been a raucous affair of drinking and taunts and dares and fun at Joe’s place. They had rung in the new year like kings, and January first found them tired and hungover and grumpy. Well, except for Patrick…a fact that Pete loudly bemoaned from his knot of blankets hiding him from the world on the bed. 

 

“I seriously hate you that you can’t get hungover.” Patrick merely grinned and pressed a gatorade to his hands, which Pete drank from sloppily before flopping back to the bed and groaning. Patrick put the gatorade on the nightstand and crawled over to his side of the bed, pulling out garage band and his giant headphones and messing around. Pete fell asleep curled around him, the soft backwash of whatever Patrick was working on bleeding out and soothing him. Patrick had been doing a lot more acoustic music lately, a lot more soft stuff with mesmerizing beats and calming vocals. He liked it. 

 

That evening, he woke up mostly refreshed and feeling like a human again, and Patrick bundled him into the car with a blanket wrapped around him and several odd-looking bags in the backseat. They drove to the lakeshore, to a secluded park on the dunes of Lake Michigan that was totally deserted. _Everyone’s too hungover to make it out here_ Pete thought grumpily, wishing he was still in bed watching _Jersey Shore._ That show was fucking art. 

 

But he didn’t grouse _too_ loudly when Patrick parked the car and pulled the bags from the back. They trudged up a dune and then down to a deserted cove, the waves lapping gently at the shore a soothing backdrop. Patrick dropped the bags and pulled a lawn chair from one, setting it up and motioning Pete to sit. 

 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t touch the bags.” Pete groused but nodded, settling himself into the lawn chair and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. _Fuck it was cold._

 

Patrick stared at him a moment longer, before turning and scampering off back towards the car. Pete hoped he brought a magical space heater back with him that would keep them warm without electricity. But Patrick instead came lumbering back wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts and a tank top, and caring what looked like three cords of firewood. Pete started to get up, but Patrick dropped the firewood with a huff and then looked back at Pete with dark eyes. 

 

“I figured since it’s New Years…” He shrugged and took off his beanie, tossing it on top of one of the bags, and gave Pete a look. “Don’t be scared.” Before Pete could ask what the fuck would he be scared of, Patrick had closed his eyes and a strangely intense look crossed his face. It was halfway between what Pete guessed was his _I’m-pushing-out-a-really-intense-shit_ face (not that he would know—Patrick _locked the damn door_ when he took a dump _)_ and a look near to pain. But then all the sudden… _Patrick_ was gone. Pete tried later to verbalize what it looked like—there was no grotesque ripping of flesh, no creepy elongating of limbs or purple smoke. It was just one second, it was Patrick standing there in a bathrobe, and then everything _expanded_ and there was all of the sudden a rust and golden dragon on the beach with dark bronze wings. Here and there were little hints of a teal, almost like the way you could see colors in an oil slick.

 

“ _Holy shit.”_ Pete leaped to his feet and ran over, hands held out cautiously. “Patrick, is…can you still understand me?”

 

_Of course I understand you idiot. I don’t lose my mind when I change._

 

Pete looked around, confused. He had heard Patrick’s voice but he hadn’t _heard_ it. It was…

 

_Telepathy, Pete. That’s how we communicate like this, unless you want me to roar at you and start a tsunami from the sound waves._

 

Pete stared at him intently, scrunching up his eyes and thinking at Patrick intently “ _So wait you’re some kinda Jedi Master Dragon!? This is so cool, I—“_

 

_I can’t hear you thinking at me, Pete. You still have to talk._

 

 _“_ Oh, shit okay. I guess that makes sense, I can hear you but it’s not like I’m actually telepathic myself, huh? Holy shit Patrick, this is seriously so cool!” He put his hands around his shoulders and shivered but didn’t really care because his boyfriend was seriously a _dragon_ right in front of him. Patrick-the-Dragon quirks a scaly eyebrow at him. 

 

_Stack the firewood up, will you?_

 

Pete does so, the three years of being a boy scout paying off. He goes back to the bags, and bends to search through them for matches—

 

_WHOOOMPH._

 

He turns around to see _flames_ shooting from Patrick’s open jaws, and he can’t help but let out a startled shout of excitement as the logs sizzle under the onslaught and a merry fire begins to glow. 

 

“OH MY GOD that was so cool!!! Fuck, Patrick, seriously why aren’t you a dragon all the time if you can do that?!”

 

 _Because NOBODY would notice a dragon walking Michigan Drive, right? That wouldn’t cause a fuss at all…_ Patrick snorts a little puff of smoke. _Plus, can you imagine me trying to grocery shop like this? Because God knows you can’t buy groceries to save your life._

 

Pete shrugged, supposing Patrick had a point. “Well…this is awesome. Can I like…touch you?” Patrick only nodded his ponderous head, laying down and letting Pete inspect him. 

 

Hands trailing along a broad flank, Pete marveled at the smoothness of Patrick’s scales. They were a beautiful mixture of deep rusty red-brown and a honey color with gold flecks, and they fit together like armor. He looked at the gigantic claws on Patrick’s legs, and the raised line of serrated scales that ran down his spine to the tip of his tail. Bending down, Pete reached out to touch one, but Patrick’s voice echoed in his head, _Don’t touch them. They’ll cut._

 

Looking up to where Patrick was watching him, Pete cocked his head. “Then how do you not like roll over on your tail and cut yourself?” 

 

He hadn’t thought about whether Patrick-the-Dragon could roll his eyes and effect the “seriously, idiot” face that he had come to know so well, but somehow it still came through. 

 

_Because those are made of the same stuff as the rest of my scales, dumbass. A razor can’t cut a razor._

 

“But you have to use diamonds to cut other diamonds.” Pete couldn’t help but add, and Patrick huffed and settled his head back on the sand. 

 

_Seriously not going to argue with you about this right now, considering I could eat you if I wanted—PETE don’t start telling me you think you’d taste good!_

 

“I thought you said you couldn’t hear my thoughts?” Pete glared, because that was exactly what he was going to say.

 

_I can read your face, stupid._

 

Pete didn’t argue that point, but decided now was a good time to look at those _wings._ He ran a gentle hand across the dark coppery-colored membrane—it was leathery and veined, but softer than he would have expected. It reminded him of the skin between his thumb and forefinger—tough but still soft and pliable. He could see muscles flexing at the base of the wings, and traveling through the bones at the top of the wing. He ran his fingers lightly against them, watching them move, and then a low rumble erupted from deep in Patrick-the-Dragon’s chest. Pete jerked his hand back, afraid he had unintentionally hurt him, or…

 

But no. Patrick-the-Dragon’s eyes were closed, and Pete noticed that _somehow_ , despite now having a jaw full of razor sharp teeth and scales all over his face and some crazy cool horns…he could still see _Patrick_ in the dragon’s features. And if there was one thing Pete Wentz was good at, it was seeing when Patrick was _happy._  

 

“You like that?” He asked incredulously, resuming his gentle stroking of Patrick-the-Dragon’s wing and smiles at the resultant rumble and sigh that ripples out of those mighty lungs. 

 

 _It’s just…_ Pete can totally hear the shyness in Patrick’s voice _. Wings have more nerve endings than any other part of our body, so it feels…really good._

 

“Really…” The second thing Pete Wentz really knew how to do was make Patrick feel _good_. He ran his fingers delicately along the membrane between the bones, and then up onto the muscles and tendons clustered around the leading edge of the wing. He massaged those gently and Patrick rumbled again, steam coming from his nose and Pete kept it up. But now, he watched Patrick’s dragon-face as he continued his ministrations. 

 

The scales around Patrick’s eyes were long and somehow seemed to define the shape of his face. His eyes were still blue, the same blue Pete had stared into for the last years of his life and loved more than anything. They were ringed by a strong brow crest that swept back into elegant golden horns. There was a delicate ridge of blue scales between his eyes that accentuated the sharp line of his head, and made his eyes seem even bluer and more liquid. But now his eyes fell closed as Pete massaged the muscles gently, and he hummed in happiness in a totally _Patrick_ way and it made Pete’s heart warm. 

 

Pete couldn’t help it…he left the beautiful wings behind and went to where Patrick was laying his head on the sand. He opened those huge blue eyes and looked up as Pete squatted down, and he could see his own face reflected in their cerulean depths. There was a concerned cast to them, and he looked down briefly as he asked tentatively. 

 

_What do you think?_

 

Without hesitation, Pete reached out and rested a hand gently on Patrick-the-Dragon’s snout. It was warm to the touch, but smooth under his fingers. “You’re incredible.” He couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face. “I seriously have the coolest boyfriend in the world.” Patrick-the-Dragon actually managed to smile in a way that wasn’t totally terrifying, considering all the teeth in those jaws. He couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at him since Patrick transformed. “Why show me now? What changed?”

 

Patrick huffed again and flapped his wings a bit, almost like a shiver. _It’s the New Year and I—it’s not that anything’s really changed that much with you and me in the last year. But I just felt like…it’s you and me now. We’re not in the band now, we’re grown-ups, I suppose, and I wanted you to see every part of me._

 

Slightly awestruck, Pete sat back on his heels. He looked down at his hands for a minute, and they looked small and puny next to Patrick-the-Dragon’s claws, but then met the cool blue gaze again. “I think I’m the luckiest person in the world to get to see you _every_ way.” 

 

Humming contentedly, Patrick brought his huge head up to gently nuzzle Pete’s neck and cheek. _Look in the bags. I brought us something._

 

Pete scrambled over and started to pull stuff from the bag. “Oh my God, I love you.” He settled the ingredients for s’mores on the empty bag and started poking marshmallows onto skewers. Patrick curled around the fire and Pete settled back against him, tucked into the hollow behind his foreleg. They sat in the silence, Pete stuffing s’mores in his mouth and Patrick swishing his tail through the sand contentedly, both staring out at the waves and the moon shining on the water. Eventually, Patrick draped a wing over Pete when the wind started picking up, and he stroked it softly as Patrick hummed in his head a song he’d been working on. He enjoyed feeling the little shivers that worked its way through the dragon’s solid frame as he ran his fingers along the soft membrane. Soon, little purrs and a strange strangled-grunt/moan were coming from his throat as Pete ran his fingers along the bony edge. “Like that babe?” 

 

He could feel the muscles moving under the scales as Patrick-the-Dragon moved his head a bit to peer at him with a sky-blue eye. _I know you know I do, asshole._ He huffed and smoke came out of his nostrils, wafting up to the midnight sky and Pete laughed. 

 

“How do you make fire?” 

 

Patrick explained that to him, and then explained why he wasn’t going to give Pete a ride up to the moon, and then told him about how his family had ended up in Chicago. Eventually, Pete had felt sleep pulling at him, and Patrick delicately picked up his blanket from where he had dropped it by the chair with his tail, and held it out to him. It looked like a bizarre blue flag dangling from a razor-sharp flagpole, but Pete was grateful. He wrapped it around himself and nuzzled deeper into his dragon/boyfriend’s side, surprisingly comfortable. “I love you, Patrick.” He mumbled as Patrick used his tail to flick more logs on the fire. 

 

_I love you too. Go to sleep, I’m here._

 

Pete opened his eyes and looked at Patrick. “But wait, is it safe for you to sleep out here? I can stay up with you if—“ 

 

Huffing deep in his chest Patrick moved his head into Pete’s line of sight, resting the intense blue gaze on him. 

 

_Dragons don’t sleep, so I can’t sleep in this form. I’m just enjoying…being. It’s okay, alright? Get some rest._

 

Contented, Pete sighed and nuzzled in. He could feel the breeze drifting around him and the warm solid weight of Patrick’s body. There was a smell too…like cinnamon and firewood and cedar. It cocooned Pete, and he drifted to sleep with Patrick humming softly.

 

The next morning, Pete woke up cocooned in the blanket with his head pillowed in Patrick’s lap. He burrowed a bit into the softness of his thigh, but then jerked awake. 

 

“Patrick, what—“

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” It was weird, Pete thought distantly to hear Patrick’s voice with his ears, instead of echoing in his head. He kinda missed it. But he saw Patrick’s wings still wrapped around them like a tent, and he smiled—reaching up a hand to caress the soft, leathery skin. Patrick made a noise like a strangled moan, and Pete grinned up at him. 

 

“How have I never known that about your wing fetish before?” He brought his other hand up to stroke the edge of Patrick wing, right where it turned into the hook-like claw and he loved the rumble from deep in his boyfriend’s chest. 

 

“It’s not a wing fetish, dummy. It’s where my nerve endings are, simple science.” 

 

Pete smiled at the annoyed tone. “Well, I’m a fan of your nerve endings, then.” Patrick rolled his eyes, and ran his hand through Pete’s hair. 

 

“Let’s go home, alright?” Nodding, Pete sat up. The sky was a steel grey, and it looked like it might rain soon. When he turned back to Patrick, the wings were gone and he was shrugging on his hoodie. 

 

“Awhh…I miss them already.” 

 

Patrick gave him a wry look. “Not as much as I do, trust me.” 

 

Then they packed everything up and started the drive home. Pete took Patrick’s hand while they drove, looking over at the familiar features in a new light now that he’d seen them through the cast of _dragon._  

 

“Miss the dragon already?” 

 

Shaking his head, Pete grinned. “I like everything about you.” Patrick’s shy smile was more beautiful than the rising sun. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and dragon!Patrick go to the Happiest Place on Earth.

 

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

 

With a groan, Pete rolled over and swatted at his alarm. It shut off satisfyingly mid-ring and he nuzzled back into the warmth of Patrick and bed and pillows and _ohmygodDisneyland!_

 

 _“_ Patrick! Babe, wake up, it’s Disneyland day!” 

 

 _“Mmphsshhhgsh.”_ The noises that were coming out of Patrick’s mouth were decidedly not words, but Pete was used to it, after two years. Mornings were apparently not a dragon’s friend. Or at least, they weren’t Patrick Martin Stump’s friend, that’s for damn sure. But today had to be different—it was _the day._ Disneyland was the fuckin’ best, it was seriously the Happiest Place on Earth. He was beyond thrilled that they (okay, there had been no _they,_ it had been a sole _Pete Wentz The Annoying One_ enterprise _)_ had built an extra bit of time into their LA business trip for a day at the park. 

 

“Cute impersonation of a log babe, but let’s save it till we’re actually _on the log ride_ , okay?” Pete started bouncing on the bed in excitement, hoping the jostling would pull Patrick from his coma. “It’s like…seven fifteen already! The park opens at eight, we need to—“ He was cut off by a very fast, very strong set of arms and legs whipping out with impressive speed from under the mountain of blankets. They wrapped around him with crushing force and pulled him down and before he could say _“_ Uncle” he was wound deep into a spiderweb of grumpy, sleepy, pissy _Patrick._  

 

“I should set you on fire.” Patrick rumbled as he attacked Pete’s collarbone, biting and kissing none too kindly. His breath was hot, teeth making sharp nips of perfect pain along the line of the bone and Pete _loved_ it. “I should char your bones black.” He claimed Pete’s mouth in a searing kiss, all heat and teeth and tongue as he pulled him underneath his body, rolling his impressive hard on against Pete’s thigh. _Oh…okay, then,_ Pete thought happily. _I can stand to be a couple minutes late as long as it’s for a good reason._ One of Patrick’s hands found Pete’s nipple and tweaked it sharply, nails biting into the skin. Yelping out, Pete threw his head back and let Patrick attack his neck. “I should _eat you_.” Patrick rolled his hips against Pete’s again, one hand buried in his hair and the other squeezing his rib cage hard, the delicious pressure possessive and hungry. It gave Pete the perfect idea.

 

Pushing with his leg, he rolled them over so Patrick was on his back. His eyes were blue and imperious, and Pete _loved_ it. He loved pissy, haughty, grumpy morning Patrick. 

 

Never breaking eye contact, he slithered downwards. “But if you did that, who would eat _you?”_

 

_~//~_

 

At nine-thirty they tumbled through the park’s gates, and Pete was jumping up and down like a five year old. He pulled Patrick over to the giant Mickey Mouse head made of flowers and took a selfie of them (Patrick was scowling—typical) and then dragged him through the archway and towards the shops. 

 

“ _Babe_ , we _need_ to get mouse ears!!!!” He pulled his protesting boyfriend into the “Mad Hatter” shop, and googled at the hundreds of different mouse ears lining the walls. Pete flitted from rack to rack, pulling one off to try it on before finding one he liked even more. Following in brooding silence, Patrick rolled his eyes as Pete tried on a pink one with “Princess” written in looping font and a tiara. 

 

“That looks like a winner.” He mumbled, and Pete shook his head as he looked around, searching for the right one for his favorite person. 

 

“ _THIS is the one for you!”_ He crowed, pulling one from the top of the rack and swooping Patrick’s hat off, depositing the ears on faster than the complaint coming out of his mouth. Patrick looked in the mirror, and the look on his face was priceless—Pete couldn’t help the loud, braying laugh that tumbled from him. Turning around, Patrick folded his arms and glared daggers, a whiff of smoke rising from his flared nostrils, and Pete pulled his phone out to grab the world’s quickest picture. 

 

“Seriously?” Patrick asked as he took off the ears, folded them and replaced them in their spot. Pete looked down at the picture and laughed all over again. his angelic looking boyfriend—who happened to be a dragon—pouting under a “Toothless” set of Mickey ears, large green eyes staring out like a more adorable version of the expression on Patrick’s face. He quickly made it his wallpaper. Looking up, he saw Patrick had wandered off, so he resumed trying on ears and making faces for snapchat, until a tap on his shoulder interrupted him. 

 

“I found yours.” Patrick was grinning, and pulled a set of ears from behind his back. Pete’s eyes shot open. 

 

“ _Ohmygoshbabe!_ They’re _amazing!”_ A pair of nightmare before Christmas ears were cradled in Patrick’s hands—the hat itself was Jack Skellington’s distinctive face, while the ears were cobwebbed. Perching the ears on his head, he made what he hoped was a terrifying face. “How do I look?” Patrick snapped a picture on his phone and gave him a small, fond smile. 

 

“Perfect.” 

 

Grinning madly, Pete gestured. “We gotta find you some now babe!” 

 

He shook his head. “I don’t think I really want ears.” Pete could feel his shoulders sagging at the pronouncement, and Patrick shook his head. “Fine. Pick me out whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

 

“Anything?” Pete’s eyes glowed, and he saw the brief look of horror flash across Patrick’s face as he realized what he had said, but then he sighed, resigned.

 

“I’m going to regret this…”

 

That’s how Patrick Stumph of the Friednot Dragon Clan ended up walking out of “The Mad Hatter” in a giant green Goofy hat, complete with ears. Pete pulled him close so they could take a hat-selfie in front of the store, and giggled in glee. Something caught his eye in the window so he scurried back. 

 

“Babe! Look! They have Maleficent horns! We could get you those instead, I’m sure they’d exchange them!”

 

Patrick pulled him away with a shake of his head. “You’re hysterical.” He gave his grinning boyfriend a measured look. “You know I’m actually distantly related to her, right?” 

 

~//~

 

There were many things Pete had expected to do at their day at Disneyland—ride the rides, eat a huge turkey leg and make thinly-veiled innuendos, try to beat Joe and Andy’s score on the Astro Blaster’s ride…but this was not one of them. 

 

“Fuck, just get me a Sprite, will you?” Patrick was sitting on a bench just outside of Space Mountain with his head between his knees, his voice coming out muffled. 

 

“I can’t believe you can’t get hungover, but you can get motion sick.” Patrick glared up at him, the effect being less terrifying than normal considering he was pale and sweating. “Fine, fine, off I go.” Pete went and bought a bottle of Sprite from one of the little carts, and bought himself a popsicle while he was at it. Bringing it back to his boyfriend, he unscrewed the cap and held it down to him. “Here you go.” 

 

He didn’t say anything, just reached up a shaking hand to take the drink. He sat up enough to take a few sips, each one longer than the last as he leaned back and closed his eyes. 

 

“Better? You look a little less green around the gills now.”

 

Patrick didn’t even open his eyes, just took another swig and breathed through his nose.

 

“Dragons don’t have _gills_ , idiot. And for the record, it’s not that I’m motion sick, I just don’t like being spun around in the dark when I have no idea where we’re going.” 

 

Now it was Pete’s turn to roll his eyes. “Such a control freak.” 

 

~//~

 

They were standing next to the statue of Walt Disney and Mickey holding hands, waiting for the fireworks to start. People were pressed all around them, jostling for the best spot to see the explosions of color. Pete was talking animatedly to a guy standing next to them about the new Star Tours ride that was supposed to be opening soon, and Patrick was playing on his phone. The guy was tall with large ear gauges and a well-trimmed but massive beard. He leaned close as he laughed over Pete’s Jar-Jar impersonation, laying a hand on Pete’s chest for a moment as a flirtatious twinkle flared in his grey eyes. 

 

“Oh, hey, no, I’m actually—“ Pete started to say something to get the guy to stop, but was interrupted by a warm arm pushing the guy’s hand from his chest as they wrapped around him. Patrick was standing close, practically oozing around Pete and pulling him to the other side, away from the bearded guy. 

 

“ _He’s mineee_.” The words came out with a sound like a low hiss at the end, and Pete felt a shiver go up his spine. The guy backed away with hands held up, moving to stand somewhere out of sight, and Pete suddenly had his face pulled down and the most achingly gorgeous lips ever pressing against his own. Patrick still had a possessive hold on him, arms wrapped around his waist and legs pushing him against the low wrought-iron railing.  

 

The announcer came over the artfully-hidden speakers, announcing the fireworks were about to start as Patrick pulled away. 

 

“Jealous, much?” He couldn’t help but ask, and Patrick merely smirked at him. “You know I wasn’t trying to—“

 

“Shhh.” Patrick cut him off with a quick peck. “I know. You’re just too damn gorgeous for your own good.” He stepped back and stood up on the low curb, pulling Pete back to stand against him and fitting his chin on his shoulder, humming contentedly. The lights dimmed as Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist as he whispered in his ear, and Pete could swear he heard the shit-eating grin in his voice. “I have the prettiest hoard in the world.” 

 

Then the music started and the sky exploded in a riot of color and sound and choreography. Tinkerbell flew across the sky and the castle was wreathed in flames as the show went on. Standing there with his love, Pete could feel the magic all around them. 

**Author's Note:**

> CREDIT:
> 
> **Loosely based off this prompt/headcannon: https://a-smile-like-that.tumblr.com/post/153546164301/ok-so-dragon-trick-at-warped-tour-getting-super
> 
> **Many thanks to @Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace for all her cheerleading and inspiration! She helped me brainstorm this the other night and it wouldn't even be close to what it is (which isn't much) without her!
> 
> **Title is from "Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet" from Folie a Deux (I can never decide if that's my favorite album, or if Infinity on High is...today it's Folie)
> 
> **If you want to know my half-way mental image of what Patrick as a dragon looks like, check this picture out: http://hivewallpaper.com/copper-dragon-7-free-wallpaper.html#.WGm8KLGZOCQ (Except he has sharp scales along his spine and more flared horns...but you get the picture)


End file.
